


The Last Place You Look

by tersa (alix)



Series: Dragon Age:Asha [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has always represented a triumvirate of things Asha Mahariel resents: human, Chantry, and Grey Wardens. She has worked hard to overcome the dislike in order to work with him, but it’s been difficult, and she tends to take out anger and frustration on him by snarking.</p><p>But after being rocked in quick succession by Tamlen's re-appearance as a ghoul and his shade at the shrine to Andraste, encounters which were emotionally difficult for the normally hard-bitten and pragmatic Asha, it is Alistair, not her love interest, Zevran, who was supportive immediately afterwards. And, despite herself, she found herself finally feeling an emotional bond with Alistair that went beyond necessity.</p><p>A rare attempt at a non-romantic relationship with Alistair and friendship fic, on my part.</p><p>In addition to the Mahariel/Zevran pairing, there is an implied Alistair/Leliana relationship based on the previous "Also Ran", part of this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Place You Look

Wood clacked against wood, echoes reverberating back from the mountains surrounding us. There wasn’t much to the clearing, a short distance from the campsite, but it was enough to practice in. Alistair’s sword snaked around the edge of his shield, and I pushed it aside with the blade of my dagger, my own sword coming up to rap the inside of his forearm. Well, tried, at least, as a shift of his shield a few centimeters, sent the tip harmlessly wide. Back and forth we went, footwork taking us from one end of the area to the other, occasionally breaking through to land jabs and smacks that would lead to bruises, but far fewer than when we’d first set out. Bruises were better than real injuries from darkspawn.

It was also release of a sorts. With the pinch of Andraste’s ashes we’d earned from the shrine, we should be able to cure Arl Eamon. Alistair had explained how important he was to the shems, and that he would be able to bring the shemlen army to the field alongside the Dalish, dwarves, and mages to fight the darkspawn hordes so we could get to the archdemon.

It was about time. After weeks of criss-crossing Ferelden with a ragtag group of humans, an elf, a dwarf, and a qunari to stitch together an equally motley confederation of nations, fighting off darkspawn, the undead, dragons, and incessant bigotry, I was burning out the stub end of a candle, even before having to kill the wreck Tamlen had become or facing his shade in the Gauntlet in Andraste’s Temple after the Guardian threw my guilt back into my face. It had shook me to my core, more than I could let on, more so that in that moment of weakness, it was Alistair that had shown understanding and sympathy, and I’d been grateful for it. I didn’t like feeling gratitude towards him. It frightened me, that I might be growing to like him, and so I took it out as I usually did, turning it to an anger fueling my sparring against this shem, who barely had the self-sufficiency to function without me having to guide him, when he was the elder as a Grey Warden, the one who wanted to be one while I was forced into it. I wanted to hurt him to stop my own.

He laughed as my sword clanged off the face of his shield. “Maker’s breath, Asha, we’re just _pretending_ to fight darkspawn, not being them.”

Mention of his Maker flared rage in me, and I came back again, my dagger coming down hard against the outside of his knee. He yelped in pain, and his amusement evaporated. Determination entered his expression, and he began pressing his attack in earnest. I had the advantage of greater nimbleness, even in the heavy armor, but he had the greater weight and strength behind it, and the shield. With a sudden rush, he bore down on me with that shield, rendering my sword useless, pinned as it was between the shield and my body, and pushed, sending me off balance and crashing to my back. The wind left me in a whoosh, and I gasped, trying to find my breath. The blunt tip of his wooden practice sword caught me under the chin as I was gulping it in.

Our eyes met over the length of the sword, his mouth set in a grim line, my jaw set stubbornly. He exerted pressure, just a hair, but I was forced to arch my neck back to relieve the painful pressure of the wood digging into my neck. Neither of us moved after that, until he asked, “The shade in the shrine. Was that Tamlen?”

I froze, taken aback by the question. The sword pressed against my skin, a reminder only, but it thawed me enough to respond. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look at Alistair’s shem face and see Tamlen. “No, not really.”

“It’s obviously bothering you,” he went on conversationally, as if it wasn’t the slightest bit strange to be asking highly personal questions at the end of a sword to someone sprawled on the ground. “Ever since the shrine, you haven’t been yourself. I should’ve never been able to best you just now, except your head isn’t in the right place.”

The aching pressure at my throat lifted, and he stepped back, passing the sword to his shield hand and offering out the now free hand to help me up. I eyed it, considered slapping it away, but then accepted it, surprised at the raw strength I felt through his grasp as I pulled myself up. I released his hand immediately and tucked my practice weapons under one arm.

“If you ever want to talk,” he went on, voice dropping into a quietness I wasn’t used to from him, “I’m here for you. Maker knows you’ve put up with me and my problems enough. I know we’ve had our differences, and I can’t always be sure you actually _like_ me, but I consider you a friend. I just want you to know that.”

I narrowed my eyes as I looked back at him, anger simmering still beneath the surface, but his words…angry though I was, his words hit home. I was tired of feeling so alone. My jaw worked, as he shifted on his feet and said, “Anyway, I’ll see you back at camp.”

“Wait,” I said before he got more than a few metres away. “I’ll walk with you.”

The offer surprised him, but he dipped his chin, looking pleased, and waited for me to draw alongside him. Starting off, I said, “You’re right, I don’t always like you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said with mild sarcasm, and I could almost hear his eyes rolling in the tone.

Surprising myself, I flashed a grin at him, one that subsided quickly. It took courage to say the next words, but I reminded myself sternly that he’d been open with me, in the past. I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. “Tamlen was more than just a hunter in my clan. He was a friend. He…might have been more.”

“More?” Alistair echoed in confusion, then made a small noise of disgust. “Oh, right. _More_. Sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” I agreed with a bite to it, but without rancor. I was past rancor, with the admission. “You asked me once how I wound up joining the Grey Wardens, and I told you I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had a choice. I wouldn’t have. Still probably wouldn’t have.” When he made a rising noise of strangled protest, I overrode him, continuing. “I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t like you, trying to escape a life I didn’t want. I wanted my life. I am Dalish. I was free. I lived with my people trying to preserve the old ways, and I never wanted more than that. But then, one day, Tamlen and I were out hunting in the forest, and we ran into three shems—humans,” I corrected myself for his benefit, and felt a flare of irritation at myself for giving him that consideration, that I brushed aside and went on, still rankled. “They told us of some ruins in the forest that we’d never knew existed. Those were our woods,” I said hotly, “and they knew more of it than we did. I didn’t believe them, but Tamlen wanted to go check it out, just in case.”

“Did you find them?” he asked, as a good listener would.

My answer was a curt nod. “Yes. And in it was a strange mirror. I didn’t like it, but Tamlen was always the curious one. He touched it. And then…”

“What?”

I chewed on my lip. “There was a bright burst of light. Then, nothing. Except Duncan. I was laying in the woods, and Duncan’s face was over me. I remember how pretty the leaves and branches were behind his head. I didn’t know at the time who he was, just this shem. But he found me and brought me back to my clan. I was unconscious for three days.”

We were nearing the camp, only a few metres away, and he pulled up. Reflexively, I paused as well, and he turned to face me. “Three days. That’s a long time. What happened?”

My armor rattled when I shrugged. “Taint, Duncan said. From the mirror. My Keeper managed to keep it in abeyance, but not cure me. He said the only thing that would was the Joining. As for Tamlen—“ I shrugged again, clamping down hard on the pain that welled up as it always did. “He wasn’t so lucky. He wasn’t with me in the forest when Duncan found me. I went back to look for him, but I couldn’t find him in the ruins, or outside of it. I wanted to stay and keep looking, but my clan was moving north to get away from the darkspawn, and Duncan said it was hopeless, that he’d been out too long untreated, and that if I didn’t undergo the Joining soon, I’d be dead, too.” My gaze slid away, as I suddenly went thoughtful. “He never said what the alternative was, but he knew. He _had_ to have known that I might have turned into what Tamlen did. Like Ruck and Leyna.”

“A ghoul,” Alistair said flatly, his eyes hard. “Corrupted by the taint, but not really a darkspawn. You weren’t at Ostagar long enough to see it, but I was. Nasty piece of business. You should be glad Duncan made you Join us.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand, do you? You saw being a Grey Warden as a way out. To me, it was—is—a cage. And I could have died in the Joining. How different would it have been, then, if I’d died then with my clan around me rather than on the floor of that temple like Daveth?”

“At least this way, you’re alive.”

“At what cost?” I asked with a bitter laugh. “I can never go back to them. I am casteless, like those dwarves we saw in Orzammar. Condemned to live amongst strangers and outsiders for the rest of my magic-shortened life, according to what you said.”

“Not strangers,” he said softly. “I know I’m not your clan, or even an elf, but I meant what I said back there. I do consider you a friend, and I’d like to think I’m your friend as well. As well as being Grey Wardens. We’ve got each other.”

I slid him a side-long look, and snorted. “Well. You got the last part right, at least. I don’t know about ‘friends’, yet.”

My answer annoyed him. “Well, why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Nooooo, not really.”

I waved a hand at him, palm up. “You’re human. I’m Dalish.”

He did roll his eyes this time. “You don’t say. What does that have to do with the price of poison in Antiva?”

“Your kind enslaved my people, destroyed our home, our culture, and our history.”

He looked back in disgust. “That was ages ago.”

“All of you still look down at us like dog droppings on your nice shoes.”

“I’ll remind you,” he said with some asperity, “that it is _your_ dog leaving the droppings at this camp, and I don’t have any nice shoes, not after this.”

“Humans killed my parents.”

That brought him up short, but he recovered after a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, mood shifting to sympathy, before pressing his point. “But, Asha, really? Are you going to hold me to blame for all history’s insults? And how is it fair to make me responsible for it and let Morrigan and Leliana off the hook? Or are they not human?”

I grudgingly muttered through clenched teeth, “No, they are.”

“There, you see? They why hate me and not them?”

“Because you…you..”

“What? I’m handsome? Funny? Just put you on the ground and had my way with you? Wait,” he paused, “that didn’t come out right.”

I barked a laugh. “No. Don’t you get it? You stand for everything my people have been fighting against since the time of Andraste.”

“But _I_ don’t,” he pleaded reasonably. “I’m not like that. Have I ever once said bad things about you? For being an elf,” he added quickly. “Have I ever once oppressed you? Tried to enslave you? Or any other elf we’ve encountered.”

“You wanted to kill Zevran,” I pointed out in a level tone.

“Well, yes,” he agreed, “but not because he was an elf. He was trying to kill us, if you recall. But anyone else? Have I ever tried to convert you? Rammed the Chant of Light down your throat? Killed Morrigan, even though she is an apostate and in dire need of…”

“Enough,” I cut him off, my expression turning dangerous. “I don’t want to have that argument again.”

He grunted acknowledgement, and shifted tacks. “And what about Zevran?”

I looked at him warily. “What about him?”

“Isn’t he a friend, and not a stranger?”

“What about you and Leliana?”

He shot me a perplexed look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not the same thing,” he said crossly.

“No?”

He suddenly looked suspicious. “Are you jealous?”

“What?” I asked in shock. “No!”

“Because it looked like you were interested in her, at least until Zevran got you into the blankets, and—“

I shoved him hard, and he cut off as he stumbled, catching his balance and laughing, which I scowled at him for. “I was never interested in her. I liked her as a person and she was good company. She reminded me of the lorekeeper in my clan, with all her stories. But I’m not jealous.”

“So, what about you and Zevran?”

I snorted again and repeated stubbornly, “What about you and Leliana?”

“I asked you first.”

“No.”

He threw me a withering look, but caved. “I don’t know. She’s beautiful, and worldly, but, she’s changed since she killed Marjolaine. I think she’s committed to her vision and the task of helping us get rid of the Blight here, but I don’t know if she’ll stay when it’s all over.” Despite myself, I felt a pang of sympathy at the wistfulness in his tone, but I said nothing, and he went on. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me, after I found Goldanna, and I think you’re right. I’ve always had people telling me how to live my life and how to be, from Arl Eamon, to the Chantry, and then the Grey Wardens. But, they’re all gone. It’s time for me to grow up and start making my own decisions. Stop doing what everyone tells me I _should_ do, and what I think I should do.”

“Finally,” I said, earning a dark look from him. I gave him a smirk in return that faded as I added seriously, “I’ve been wishing you would from the start. But since we’re neck deep at this point, just keep doing what I say for now, eh? You can have _everything_ once the Blight’s over and the archdemon’s gone. Rebuild the Grey Wardens. Punch Loghain in the face. I don’t care.”

It was his turn to snort, but the corner’s of his mouth turned up in a slight wry smile. “I’d like that, actually.” He sighed, studied me briefly, then offered his hand out. “Friends? Please?”

It was the ‘please’ that got me. For all that I wanted to cling to my old ways…I would never have felt that burst of warmth if I truly despised him as I once did. What I had told myself at the beginning of this journey but hadn’t believed, that he was my first, best ally, had become truth. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached out and clasped his forearm, a warrior’s handshake. “Let’s get back to camp,” I said gruffly, breaking my grip first. “We still have a long road ahead of us back to Redcliffe.”


End file.
